


Left Over

by JackOfNone



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Community: mount_ordeals, Gen, Hurt, Injury, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfNone/pseuds/JackOfNone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What washes up on the short of Troia is a mere shadow of a prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Over

The glaring sun, so bright it turned his vision blood-red when his eyes were closed. The warm sand, rough under his sunburnt cheek. And of course, the scorching heat.

It was a little like home, really.

As he drifted into consciousness, Edward wondered if this was heaven or hell. It was only when he found he couldn't breathe that he considered the possibility that he might still be alive. He turned his head, choked, and coughed up a spout of salt water that seared his throat and burned his cracked lips. When he could breathe again, he made a half-hearted attempt to sit up, but was rewarded with a gut-wrenching stab of agony in his legs for the trouble and fell back to the ground, gasping.

He must be alive. This clearly wasn't heaven, and if it were hell, he wouldn't be lying here on dry land. He'd still be out there, clinging to a piece of shattered hull over the great abyss of the open water, always a step away from drowning.

No matter. He was going to die here, just out of reach of the ocean, with the taste of brine still in his mouth. He could still hear the roaring of the waves and the screaming of the gulls, as though the sea were raging at being denied its rightful prey.

Maybe the water had swallowed the others. Maybe he was the only one left.

Maybe he'd washed up on some forgotten shore, to be devoured by wandering beasts who were content to accept what Leviathan had rejected.

Battered and half-drowned, addled with sun and thirst, Prince Edward of Damcyan lay on the beach and waited to die.

The gulls were circling, getting closer. It almost seemed as though their cries were forming words -- distant, human yells of alarm.

And now the waves...the waves were footsteps, heavy footsteps with the creak of metal behind them like armored men rushing across the sand. Edward remembered Cecil, his mailed fist tight around a sword that he fueled with his own pain...Golbez, all cruel laughter and murderous intent, and behind him the Baronian rank-and-file, bows raised and ready.

He must be in Baron. The soldiers were coming to finish what they'd begun. He hoped, vaguely, that they wouldn't torture him first, at least. He felt terrible enough as it was.

A shadow crossed between him and the sun.

"You're right -- he's still alive," said a voice, unmistakably close. A woman's voice. There was a shuffle of movement on the sand, and gloved hands slid under his head, tilting it up. Someone laid a spout to his lips.

The water was warm and tasted strongly of leather, but it was enough to soothe his burning throat. Slowly, Edward opened his eyes a tiny sliver.

"I can't see," he croaked. His own voice sounded alien, cracked and grating as though he'd been swallowing gravel. Not a singer's voice at all.

"Too long in the sun," said the woman, who seemed to be kneeling by his head. "Can you stand?"

Edward considered the question. "No," he answered finally. "I think my legs are broken."

"Euthalia! Ligeia! Your cloaks," the woman barked, and there was a great deal of shuffling.

"Where're you from, boy?"

"Damcyan," he said. A murmur ran through the people gathered around him.

"The news we've heard...is it true? Has Damcyan fallen under attack?" asked another female voice, this one clear and bright and younger. She sounded like Anna...no, no, far too shy and halting. Anna had never been shy.

"Yes," Edward said, but could not bring himself to elaborate further. "Please...where am I?"

"The shore of Troia, just outside of the great forest. About a day's journey from the capitol by cart. You're quite lucky -- we were about to head back when we found you."

Troia. There was one man in Damcyan who had visited there, long ago -- an old scholar with white hair and spectacles and a personal library that rivaled the royal archives. He had told tales of the Earth Crystal's country, hidden away from the world by a curtain of lush woodlands. There, fruit-bearing trees sprang up from the ground unbidden, so there was no need for any orchard or garden. The city had neither king nor queen, but a council of women chosen for their wisdom, guarded by beautiful warrior-maidens with flowers in their hair.

It had all sounded a bit far-fetched to Edward, born and raised in the desert where one could go miles without seeing a single plant. A little too much like paradise.

"Is there anyone else?" Edward coughed, and was given more water. "On the beach."

"We only found you," the gruff-voiced woman said. "I'm sorry. We'll keep watch on the shore for you," she added, not unkindly.

Edward could not think of anything to say, so he lay in silence as what seemed to be a great many pairs of hands lifted him gently from the ground and laid him back down on cloth.

If they had not found his friends, then he was alone again. He prayed they'd found other shores...perhaps more familiar ones, closer to home. He was so very far from the shattered wreck of his own, after all.

The water and shade had revived his senses a bit, but being moved made Edward feel suddenly dizzy, as though the world were pitching off its axis. The pain in his leg was back as well -- white-hot, throbbing pain that shot from his foot to his knee like wildfire. Perhaps he had cried out, because he felt a cool, damp cloth dabbing at his forehead. "There, there. Just lie still and we'll carry you back to the cart," said the woman with the clear voice. "What's your name, boy?"

"Edward," he said. "I'm a prince."

"Of course," the woman said. She sounded far away, and he was so very tired. He felt as though he might fall asleep now and never wake up.

"It's all right if you don't believe me. No one ever does," Edward said, and gratefully passed out.


End file.
